Chick Stuff - The Rationalization Edition

One of my distractions when I was in Virginia last week was perusing the "on sale" section of the Fluevog website to ensure there was nothing there I couldn't live without. Which should probably fall under the heading of bad idea, since I'm SUPPOSED to be under a shoe, handbag and jewelry moratorium until I can get a few bills paid.

Silly human.

Here are my new Fluevogs, which I bought because I needed some black shoes that I could wear all day for several days in a row since my business trips tend to be longer these days. Shoes that didn't come from the Juniors section, I mean.*

OMGWTFBBQ. SO COMFY. With or without hose. And funky! Also: Almost 50% off! Go, me!

However, I felt guilty about buying them, so I've decided to finally admit the truth and declare that I cannot wear these fabulous 'vogs:

I've had them for almost two years, and I've worn them once. The issue is that I can no longer wear shoes where the lift is higher than three inches from ball to heel. So While I have some 4" heels in my shoe stable (hello, Michael Kors!), they also have a 1" platform to offset the lift. These, alas, do not, which means I end up with foot cramps and other discomforts. So I'm biting the bullet and selling them on eBay. If they sell, they'll pay for the new ones, and I figure I'll come out even. Which, I have to admit, gets around the moratorium nicely.

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*Yes, I do realize that my shoe fetish is a bit snobbish. I'm okay with that.

The End is Nigh

Tweedle-dee and Tweedle-even more immoral

So Mitt decided on Paul Ryan for his running mate. Because evidently nothing says "My private industry experience will save the country from utter destruction at the hands of the browns and the wimmin" like selecting a running mate who's fed at the public trough his entire life. And the right is apparently completely oblivious to the cognitive dissonance inherent in this choice.

Of course there's always the possibility that they're completely aware of it, and simply don't give a crap because the far more important goal is pandering to those who a) have bought and paid for their politicians, or b) vote against their own interests as a matter of course rather than vote for the scary brown dude and all he represents. So there's that.

Really, it's a sickness

After returning from Virginia on Friday, I got back into my normal exercise routine on this weekend, which meant I ran six miles as soon as I got up on Sunday. And I liked it. If that's not a bona fide sign of the impending apocalypse, then I don't know what is.

Seriously, what is up with this? I have gone from someone who swore the only time she'd run anywhere is if she was being chased by ravaging hoards of giant squids to running six miles three times a week. When I have to skip a day due to circumstances (like business travel), I feel it, and don't like it. It's like I don't even know me anymore, but I think I better accept my new normal and stop being gobsmacked at my new-found physicality. I'm a runner. Word.

As usual, my timing is ghastly

The Parker Fieldhouse, where I go for my strength training and some cardio in the winter, is closed this week for maintenance. Not last week, when I was in Virginia, not next week, when I'll be in Massachusetts. I understand the main rec center is open for Fieldhouse users during this time, but I also understand it's terribly crowded. And we all know how much I LOVE CROWDS. Not. So I'll increase my cardio here at home and redouble my strengthening efforts when we return from WorldCon.

Miscellaneous Monday

On the Road Again

I'm leaving this morning for points east on Global Dynamics business, and I'll return on Friday. And by "leaving this morning" I mean I preposted this because I got up at 3:15 a.m. in order to make a 6:15 a.m. flight. You're welcome.

I'll be getting a rental car this time, so hopefully won't have any more land navigation mishaps. Yeah, right. I'm sure I'll be driving all over the state of Virginia trying to find the hotel before it's all over. Because apparently that's how I roll.

I've decided to take my backpack this time instead of my fabulous raspberry bag - as much as I love the raspberry bag, I'll be gone a week, and the backpack is just easier on my back. Since I'm not meeting with a customer this time, I'm coming down on the side of comfort. What I need is a fabulous Coach patent leather backpack. With a computer compartment and enough room for my shit. You know - something functional rather than those twee backpacks they pretend actually serve a purpose. Are you listening, Coach?

Winter Vacation

I'll be taking the rest of the year off from my University studies. My department is tightening their belts and has decided that Tuition Assistance will be suspended for the rest of the calendar year, and I don't want to rearrange our budget to pay my tuition out of pocket. I'm thinking it's probably for the best in any case - I have a lot to learn right now, including technologies with which I'm unfamiliar, and my brain is becoming full. So instead of International Trade I'll be studying Next Generation 911.

Engineer, Heal Thyself

My arm is looking much better, although I'll certainly be wearing work attire with sleeves this week.

It's too early to tell if I'll need additional treatments at this point, but I certainly hope not. Note to self: Tattoos cost more than ten times as much to remove as to apply. And they look like ass between those two states.

Run Away! Run Away!

My last two runs (Friday and Sunday) were SIX WHOLE MILES. That's right - I ran six miles without stopping at about a thirteen minute pace. While that's slow as shit compared to everyone else, it's pretty damn good for someone who sucks so much at running she's outpaced by the local wiener dogs out on their daily walkies. My knees are apparently holding up under the strain, but my massage therapist tells me my hips are now pretty stiff. Great - something else to worry about. Why couldn't I have developed an interest in fitness when my body was young and strong rather than middle-aged and weak?

LALALA I Can't Hear You

As a matter of self-defense, I've started actively deleting my political Podcasts and skipping political articles in my daily reading. As I noted before, I'm liberal enough that if I decided to vote for Romney it would probably be indicative of a brain tumor rather than a considered political opinion, so I'm not sure why I need to drive up my blood pressure by listening to the candidates and their supporters lie like rugs. So, like my friend Dave* over on Facebook, it's time for me to start a policy of studious ignoring, "Lalala I can't hear you" style. Because I'm mature like that.

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*Not Dave the Historian (although I think he's adopted a similar strategy), Dave the Engineer. I don't think he's ever visited me here.

2012 Flower Pr0n

Burning Flesh

I've been getting a tattoo on my arm removed for the last year or so. This involves getting laser treatments every 6-8 weeks, and then waiting for my blood to carry the ink away so that my liver can process it out of my body. I've had eight treatments, but the last shadows of the ink were being stubborn, so yesterday my technician decided to try a CO2 laser treatment to shake the last of it loose, rather than the light laser we'd used previously.

Attractive, huh? This was taken about about two hours after the treatment. My technician warned me that it would look like this, so I wasn't surprised, but really - yuck. Most of the blood is just pinpoint bleeding that's seeping into the Neosporine that she applied post-treatment, but the Smart Man told me it looked like someone had taken a chainsaw to my arm. Surprisingly, it doesn't hurt that much, but it sure looks as though it ought to. Also? CO2 treatments stink. Like burned flesh.

Aren't you glad I share these personal moments with you?

Seriously - you're embarrassing me

I'm a liberal. I'm a pretty liberal liberal, actually, holding the distinction of being the most liberal member of my family. I want a single payer healthcare system. I think university level education should be paid for by the government (with tougher entrance requirements). I oppose the death penalty on principle. I think social justice is important, and that our society fails at it miserably. I think gay people should be able to marry. Like Andy Borowitz, I think Romney's a douche.

See? LIBERAL.Liberal, liberal, liberal, that's me.

So when this whole "The Chick-Fil-A Corporation conducts themselves like bigoted asshats" came up, I was all, "It's about time other people saw it! I've been boycotting them for years!" And I'll continue to boycott them. Any group that donates money to the Family Research Council is NOT getting a single penny of my money, period. Exposing the political priorities of the corporation and encouraging consumers to "vote with their wallet" is the right thing to do. As Ken over at Popehat notes, expressing your beliefs in your behavior is as natural as breathing air, and a power we all possess.

But that doesn't give you license to be a dumbass, or propose solutions that are worse than the disease.

The Mayor of Boston made some seriously ridiculous comments about how Chick-Fil-A should "stay out of Boston," and those were bad enough. But now a NYC Council Speaker is also on the bash CFA bandwagon, and is rightfully being called to task for it.

Protip: "Equal protection under the law" applies to everyone, not just liberals, not just Democrats, not just conservatives, not just Republicans. EVERYONE. My fellow liberals' grandstanding only serves to feed the completely bogus trope that Christians are somehow a persecuted minority in this country, which they are most definitely not. 

 

Following the law, even when it's inconvenient, even when it protects those whose views you find abhorrent, is the hallmark of our system. It must apply equally to everyone, or it means nothing.

So fellow liberals - just shut the fuck up about running CFA out of town on a rail. If they are accused and convicted of discrimination against gay people, or Muslim people, or Atheist people, THEN you can call for punitive measures. Because then they would be guilty of breaking the law. Right now the only thing they're guilty of is Level 10 Douchebaggery, which, last time I checked, was not a reason to discriminate against them, although it's an excellent reason to stop eating their chicken. Seriously - you're embarrassing me.

The 6th deadly sin

Over the weekend, one of my dearest friends lost a family member to a climbing accident.

From all accounts, Ben and his birth family are people of deep faith. They are dealing with this tragedy in the way they've been taught, in the way that makes sense for them. By relying on their relationship with God and with their church to find solace and meaning in Ben's life and death. These are decent people who have supported and loved my dear friend her entire life, and I'm profoundly grateful that they have such a source of comfort now, when they need it most.

And as is normal for me at times like this, I find myself more than a little envious of their faith. When my beloved Auntie died earlier this year, I had no such solace.

Over the course of my life, I have come to terms with my lack of belief. I self-identify as an agnostic atheist, because my intellectual honesty forces me to say that no, I don't know if there's a God or a life after this one, but also I don't believe in that idea. I've tried on various and sundry religions over the years, attempting to find the place in myself where the elusive idea of "spirituality" resides. I've studied the world's religions, trying to find my place, and always, always came up short.

I want to have faith. I want to enjoy the security that comes with a belief in something bigger than myself, something that provides comfort and solace in my darkest hours. But I can't. I just can't wrap my brain around it, and no amount of wishing on my part will shut up the part of me that insists on relying on the empirical, the part who looks at the historical context of belief and religion and simply can't make that leap of faith from myth to personal truth. For me personally, it's a matter of intellectual honesty and living a courageous life. My reliance on looking at the world in a factual way is part of what makes me who I am, and if I'm no longer a spiritual seeker, I would still describe myself as a seeker of truth. I can still learn the ways of the Universe through science, and find myself in awe of the wonders therein. I assign meaning and value to my life without relying on supernatural explanations and rules, and it's good.

But occasionally, I still wonder...would my life be fuller, more meaningful if I was built for faith? Would my family relationships be stronger if I had faith? Would I be happier? I honestly don't know - when I read about how religion shapes the brain, or how certain brains are more likely to engage in religious belief than others, I ask myself: Is my lack of belief a biological construct? And if it is, is my brain the evolutionary advance, or the evolutionary dead-end? Is my brain broken and that's why I lack supernatural belief? And if it wasn't, would I enjoy the comfort of faith and religious community?

I don't know the answers to any of these questions, and in the short term, I'm not sure they really matter except as a navel-gazing exercise. For now, I'm glad Ben's family has a way to deal with the event of his death in a way that is meaningful for them. And yes, a little envious, too.